


Crush Me with a Storm

by Latromi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Consensual Kink, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Face Slapping, Gags, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Happy Ending, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, No Sex, No Smut, PWP without Porn, Past Torture, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), happy crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latromi/pseuds/Latromi
Summary: Aziraphale knows what Crowley wants."Do you want to cry?" Aziraphale asks carefully, gently, so sweetly, tilting Crowley's head with a single finger under his chin and looking into his golden eyes.Sometimes getting what Crowley knows he wants isn't easy, but Aziraphale finds a way to give it to him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 129





	Crush Me with a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This fic was completely unplanned until there was talk in the Kink meme Discord server about face slapping. I had plans for two other fics that are a bit less kinky, but sometimes you just have to write an idea at 3am. Much love to everyone in the Discord! You all inspire me to write things, even if they weren't the things I had intended to be writing!
> 
> WARNING. There is some mention of past torture and a brief description of said torture.
> 
> I also want to thank my extra wonderful beta reader, DreamsofSpike! This fic started as a 3am blur of an idea. With their help and feedback it has become something I'm actually proud to be posting! It truthfully may have never seen the light of day without their input! Thank you SO much DoS!
> 
> Finally, please kink responsibly! Do your research, play safe, and get out and join your local communities if you can!

"I know you need something, but you aren't asking me. Do you want to cry?" Aziraphale asks carefully, gently, so sweetly, tilting Crowley's head with a single finger under his chin and looking into his golden eyes. 

Crowley wonders if he's really that simple to read? Like a toddler’s picture book placed in front of a scholar? Or perhaps Aziraphale just knows him that well by now?

He's right, of course, but Crowley is fearful to admit it. Crowley nods, but immediately after, he attempts to hide his face by bending towards his shoulder in shame and embarrassment at admitting what he wants. The pillow under his head prevents him from making much progress. He truly wishes his hands were free to hide behind instead. Crowley pulls at the handcuffs around his wrists that are attached to metal rings around his thighs, holding his wrists at his sides. A set of ankle cuffs holds his legs in place, anchored to the foot of the bed. The metal was forged with holy water, which turned out to be just enough blessed power to prevent Crowley from using miracles and give the cuffs a warm feel to the touch.

Wanting someone else to  _ make _ him cry is, for whatever reason, something Crowley feels guilt over. He feels bad wanting or expecting that from Aziraphale, who has always been so kind and gentle. Aziraphale is an angel. He's not supposed to deliver pain. Maybe righteous smiting is acceptable but this is so very definitely not that. Despite Aziraphale telling him that Crowley can always ask for tears and he's more than happy to bring Crowley to that place, the demon still loathes asking for what he needs. 

Aziraphale asking him feels like pity, but the fact that the angel knows Crowley so well makes it hard for him to keep still. He shifts in his restraints in hopes it will bring Aziraphale closer to him. Aziraphale is sitting on the edge of the bed; the utter bastard has rolled up his sleeves and removed his coat, bowtie, and shoes. The top few buttons of his shirt are tantalizingly undone, but Aziraphale himself as a whole is frustratingly unbound and clothed in comparison to Crowley's bound and nude body, and has been for quite a while.

Aziraphale always likes to indulge Crowley in as many feelings as he can during these sessions. For centuries, Crowley has watched Aziraphale eat and indulge in the pleasure of the smells and tastes of all the world's finest delicacies. Now, in the safety of their Own Side, and after quite a while of becoming more honest with themselves and each other, Aziraphale has learned to watch Crowley indulging in the pleasure of many forms of touch through their corporations finest sensations. Enjoying the sights and sounds of Crowley indulging has quickly become one of Aziraphale's favorite ways to pass the time.

Tonight, Crowley is afraid of how Aziraphale would accomplish this task of making him cry, which was another reason he feared asking on his own. He has been enjoying the closeness they've shared thus far tonight. It’s all been quite intimate and Crowley hates the idea that his need for tears might derail whatever plans the angel might have had to sweetly tease him with hands or mouth. Crowley doesn't want to be strung up and beaten, not tonight; tonight he is so very happy having Aziraphale teasingly pressed against his naked, writhing slender form.

Crowley has been brought to tears a handful of times by Aziraphale, and each time he used a hard leather flogger on Crowley's back. It’s taken nearly drawing blood to push him there in the past. Something about the idea of Crowley being made to bleed from the spot where his wings emerge makes him extra vulnerable. Whenever Crowley lets his mind believe Aziraphale would tear his back open, he can't hold back tears long. 

Aziraphale has yet to be successful at making Crowley cry using any other methods or tools on any other part of his body. He has tried several other ways, but has ultimately retreated back to the one method they both know will succeed if given enough time. Crowley is certain it will all happen eventually. Aziraphale has warmed up quickly to the Dominant role, and Crowley has no doubt he is not just more creative, but more bold in his comfort levels now that he better understands what Crowley is getting out of his submission. 

Safety. Care. Love. It’s almost like Falling, only with someone to catch him instead of landing in a pool of boiling sulfur.

But with a nod of his head, Crowley has committed. Aziraphale climbs on top of Crowley, who looks up into Aziraphale's pale blue eyes with longing slowly becoming more urgently expressed in his own, and across his face. Crowley thrusts his hips up into Aziraphale's body, now sitting straddling the demon's waist. The action causes Crowley to groan in frustration. He sees Aziraphale's eyes go half-lidded at the action; his lips settle into a wry grin at what could only be interpreted as a temptation meant to lure him away from his objective.

Unfortunately for Crowley, Aziraphale isn't so easily distracted as the demon hopes he will be. Crowley might have a tendency to get derailed with a mere train of thought, but once Aziraphale acquired a focus it’s never an easy matter to peel him away or get him to change gears. Aziraphale reaches forward and holds Crowley's head in his hands and then slowly, with his palm open, begins rubbing circles on Crowley's cheek.

Crowley groans in realization and wiggles again under Aziraphale. A few weeks prior Crowley finally gave Aziraphale the okay to try out face slapping. It's something Crowley has always known makes him feel very emotional and submissive, very quickly. It was the only thing that truly made him stop mouthing off during torture sessions in Hell. 

Punches to the face? Fine. Spit the blood out and keep mouthing off. 

Methodical face slapping? Total mental shut down. Crowley would find his ability to form any coherent words stripped from his abilities, not unlike someone had wiped the stars from the night sky.

Once Hell figures out how to break your mind, they use it any chance they can get. His torturers would threaten him with it to get him to shut his mouth, then do it anyways just to laugh at how easy it was to turn him into the pliant, obedient minion they truly wanted. The fight left Crowley when he was slapped in the face. It was like removing the sunglasses on his entire soul. 

You don’t want to be in Hell, in a room full of demons ready to take you down a notch for being the one getting all the commendations and recognition for your bad jobs being well done. You especially don’t want to be in said room full of demons without a defense mechanism to protect you.

As a result, when Aziraphale and Crowley began exploring kink, face slapping was off the table because Crowley didn't want to play with something so powerful. Aziraphale knew it was entirely due to how face slapping made Crowley feel and the poor memories of Hell abusing it, and him, with it. Crowley trusted Aziraphale not to abuse it, but the memories were too intense. He didn't want Aziraphale to see him that vulnerable, not until he felt they were both ready. 

Aziraphale was still figuring kink out at the start and he was nervous and lacking in confidence. Not to mention, for some time, Crowley was worried about going back to that scary mental space where Hell could take over his body and his mind whenever they felt like it. Even though they’re on their Own Side now, Crowley still has nightmares of being dragged back to Hell and tortured yet again.

There’s no rush to get to any particular kind of play. They’re going at their own pace. So face slapping stayed off the table until the time was right. Eventually, those factors that held them back weren't as prominent anymore. Crowley will never have to see Hell again; he’s much more sure of that these days than years ago, immediately after the Apocalypse That Wasn't. And Aziraphale has more than proven himself as a Dominant who can handle Crowley even at his worst, his most desperate, vulnerable and needy. So one day, Crowley told Aziraphale it was acceptable. Later that same evening, Aziraphale was curious and eager to try it out.

With only a small handful of test slaps, Crowley nearly cried. He had felt on the edge of tears then. Aziraphale had just smiled approvingly, patted him gently over the stinging wound he had just inflicted, before returning to other, more familiar activities. It was almost as if the angel had decided to pocket the idea and its potential for a rainy day.

Today is that rainy day. It isn’t raining yet, but Crowley knows it soon will be.

Crowley had forgotten about this event entirely, as it had been several more months of very lovely Dominant and submissive encounters since then, but it all comes flooding back the second Aziraphale starts rubbing Crowley's cheek. They have done this before. This is not the first time Aziraphale has held his head and rubbed his cheeks in tender preparation. Crowley has added this activity to the list of acceptable play, and it is absolutely capable of bringing him to tears, if Aziraphale is only willing to push. His stomach rolls with anxiety and anticipation at the knowledge that Aziraphale now has the power to reduce him to crying in this new, terrifyingly intimate and likely highly efficient way. 

Fear shows within Crowley's eyes, knowing exactly what kind of memories this is going to bring up. His expression shifts from one of longing to one of subdued terror before settling into something between dread and desire.

Aziraphale coos at Crowley's reaction, "Oh yes, you know what's going to happen, my dear boy. You are going to cry. You can go back there now. You are still here with me. You are safe. I am going to take you there, you are going to cry and be so, so very brave for me, won't you, my darling boy?" All while he speaks gentle words of reassurance, Aziraphale rubs circles on Crowley's left cheek. 

Crowley closes his eyes and a shiver runs from his head to his toes. He nods his head and worries at his bottom lip with his teeth before reopening his eyes and looking up at Aziraphale. The angel is all calm and comfort. How can he possibly be so gentle even when being asked to be so severe, Crowley wonders.

"Yess," he hisses, only with enough volume that he is sure Aziraphale hears it.

Crowley can't resist wiggling again. Fear has made his erection flag somewhat, but writhing under Aziraphale's warm, soft body and feeling helpless under his weight and the Holy shackles gave Crowley comfort in his helplessness. He could safeword, but he can't struggle free. Aziraphale will hold him through this. With a shuddering breath, Crowley composes himself and they begin. 

The strikes slowly escalate in intensity. After a few of them, Aziraphale pulls Crowley upwards into his chest and hugs the demon close. Then, after a pause there, Aziraphale shoves Crowley back into the bed and sees how close to tears the demon is. Aziraphale is no stranger to making his demon cry; he is very familiar with how Crowley's face looks as it's nearing tears. He's brought Crowley to tears at least five or six times by now, if not more. 

One side of Crowley's face steadily becomes unbearable while the other is braced with the gentle warmth of Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale occasionally brushes across Crowley's cheek between strikes, a soft reassurance amidst the harsh actions happening mere inches away.

Midway through Crowley starts to panic. His own fear of crying from the face slapping is keeping him from going to any mental place where tears are remotely possible. Crowley can't even slip into the memories of Hell. He had thought being slapped would bring his mind there easily, and now, under Aziraphale's weight and feeling the building pain of the layering impacts across his face, Crowley only feels fear that maybe he will not be able to cry at all.

_ 'What if I can't cry?'  _ Crowley thinks in blind fear. _ 'What if it takes me so long to cry that my face had obvious marks on it? Will Aziraphale heal it after?'  _

Part of their D/s agreement was that Aziraphale would choose what wounds and marks to heal. Crowley was always free to voice his opinion, but Aziraphale was not always as gracious as one might assume he'd be due to his nature. Aziraphale truly does love seeing Crowley squirm, and it is  _ much _ easier to make the demon squirm during their day to day life in the bookshop if Aziraphale is able to poke at a bruise he's left in a particularly vulnerable spot that he'd  _ definitely  _ never be so cruel as to plan the location of around Crowley having to reach his plants to water them on the top shelf, or when bending down to shelve a book on the bottom shelf for him. 

Aziraphale continues to slap Crowley across the left cheek. Crowley continues to not be able to cry for several more slaps, and to struggle in his mind. Crowley wants so badly to cry but his mind is clouded in doubt that he can. There is too much fear swirling in his mind. He couldn't go to that dark place. He doesn't want to go back there, but he knows he needs to. Just a few slaps had been enough last time Aziraphale had tried slapping him months ago, so why was it so different now? Will Aziraphale give up? When will he give up, if he does? 

Fearful, Crowley whines out between strikes. There is something extra wild and more severe to his expression as he looks up to Aziraphale. Crowley eyes are pleading and Aziraphale patiently pauses with a single raised brow to show he intends to allow the demon a moment to speak. Several moments tick by as Crowley does nothing more than continuing to look as if he urgently needs to express something, but words are just out of reach. 

"Well?" Aziraphale exhales with an expectant tone, "Do you need to say something?"

Crowley nods. His mouth opens and closes without any success. The pain across his face stops him. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a breath to try once more. Aziraphale's hands are both on him, gently stroking across both sides of his face, through his hair, down his neck.

It takes just a bit longer, but Crowley reopens his eyes and is finally successful. Crowley's tone is higher from sheer desperation, and the words waver with reluctant distress, "Are there going to be marks? Are you going to heal them?"

"I suppose you are going to find out, aren't you?" Aziraphale answers with a mixed look that doesn't exactly display much concern for Crowley's fears. Aziraphale's response pushes the fear from him; his stomach lurches with anxiety once more. Crowley nods yet again, his words prematurely stranding him on a beach just before the tide is set to sweep in.

The nod is all Aziraphale needs to resume where they left off. Crowley knows from the tone of Aziraphale's voice and the resuming steady pace of painful, stinging slaps across his face that he's got getting away. Aziraphale does not relent. With a cold look in his eyes, Aziraphale snaps his fingers and Crowley finds his mouth stuffed full with a ball gag.

Crowley feels his body go from tense, struggling fear to relaxed horror. The gag was the missing link; it hadn't been there during their brief foray into face slapping previously. Had it been, then Crowley may have cried back then too, and the realization hurts more than his face. Reality swiftly escapes his vision. Aziraphale's face, mouth set in an unconcerned, evaluating gaze, fades from his sight as his eyes begin to cloud with moisture.

_ Hell. Grasping hands. Red hot branding irons, cauterizing as they pierce flesh. Dangling from the ceiling in pain from hooks in his skin, wedged under muscles and between joints. He could handle the pain as long as he could talk. Every insult resulted in stinging pain across his face, and his body swaying agonizingly from the impact. It never took long for Crowley to lose his words from the slapping entirely. Then when his moans and screams of pain weren't enough to help him endure the torture, the gag would remove even the wordless cries for mercy. _

Finally the fear of marks, the pain, the gag, the memories, and the feeling of being utterly powerless to escape the situation causes Crowley to begin crying. Aziraphale pulls Crowley up against his chest. Crowley cries, and as he does so, he tries his best not to fight it off. Crowley allows himself to be held and caressed and kissed as the sobs course through his body and mind. 

From what seems like a considerable distance away, but is truthfully right next to him, Crowley hears Aziraphale whispering to him, encouraging him and guiding him back to reality from the darkness of his memories.

"That's it, dear. Cry for me. You can cry as long as you need to. I'm right here. Keep going. Let it all go, dear." During the words, Crowley hears the snap of Aziraphale's fingers. The gag is removed with the sound, its purpose fulfilled.

Crowley clenches his fists in the restraints. He wants so badly to hold on to Aziraphale while he bawls harder than he can ever recall having done before. He pushes his face into the angel's chest and strains to press himself as firmly into Aziraphale as possible. His movements prompt Aziraphale to hold him just a bit more securely. For a short while, Aziraphale's steady care just causes Crowley to fall apart more within the angel's arms, and that increase of emotions from Crowley results in just a bit more reassurance from Aziraphale. It creates a feedback loop of increasing emotion that neither of them are fully aware of, yet both of them find catharsis through.

When the worst of the sobbing is over, Aziraphale lowers Crowley down gently, a stark contrast to the shoves from before, and they look at each other as Crowley continues to cry silently, with a wide, relieved smile on his face and in his eyes through the tears.

Aziraphale cannot prevent himself from mirroring the expression; his vest and button up shirt are damp from holding Crowley against himself. "I love that. You always look so happy when you cry. You're simply stunning, my dear boy." Aziraphale's hands stroke through Crowley's hair to accompany his verbal praise. "You did so very well, my dear boy. I'm so proud of you."

Crowley nods and pushes his head into Aziraphale's affectionate touch, still crying, tears streaming down his face. "I am happy. You did it. You made me cry. Thank you. Thank you so much, Aziraphale." Saying it makes Crowley cry harder and smile wider. He knows those words couldn't truly convey what he is feeling, no words ever could, but Crowley also knows Aziraphale can feel the depths of his love and appreciation pouring from him as easily as the angel can see the tears on his face.

Crowley is happy to be brought to tears by this angel who is just enough of a bastard to enjoy the process as well as the result. Crowley is happy that angel is someone he can call  _ his _ Angel, and that knowing he can call Aziraphale his means they both love each other. Crowley is happy to know Aziraphale loves watching his suffering and he is not going to find himself abandoned or cast away after being made to feel such intense emotional distress and release. Crowley is happy Aziraphale didn't stop or back down and delivered exactly what he set out to accomplish and didn't let either of their fears get in the way. Crowley is so incredibly grateful to have all of these things be true. 

All of these things are indeed true, so of course Crowley cannot stop himself from smiling through happy tears.

Aziraphale rolls off of Crowley to rest beside him and pulls the demon against his chest as Crowley finishes crying the rest of his tears out. It comes in waves and Aziraphale holds him through all of it, serving as an anchor in the storm of his own creation. Slowly everything settles and they cuddle through it all.

Crowley is a truly blessed demon. Long after the tears dry, Aziraphale removes the Holy restraints and Crowley wastes no time wrapping Aziraphale in his long limbs, holding the angel as close as he possibly can. Aziraphale holds Crowley just as he always does after their scenes; his hands are always in motion, tracing comforting lines along the curves of Crowley's form against his own. Crowley knows he can safely nap in his angel’s arms and Aziraphale will be there with him when he awakens. Crowley will return to consciousness every bit as safe, warm, and loved as he feels now.

He feels his body start to slip off into rest, and doesn't fight it, but he does murmur one last, sleepy set of words. "I love you, Aziraphale. Thank you."

Just before his mind turns off for a blissful nap, he hears Aziraphale's voice. "I love you too, Crowley. So very much. There's no need to thank me, it was my pleasure, my dear boy. Sleep now. You've earned it. I'll be right here when you wake up."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work! I greatly appreciate all forms of feedback and do my best to respond to all my comments! Constructive comments help me become a better writer, and praise motivates me to get my other works completed!


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